There were smiles of approval.
“And we’ll penetrate the forest on the north side.”
The smiles turned to frowns.
“That’s where we’ll find the enemy.”
“Aw!” Swift Horse exclaimed. “It about time!”
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, the detachment stepped from the forest onto the wide space that was the Haut-Prairie Gap. Hawkins sent Dooley and Swift Horse to the west and Sergeant Eagle Heart and Tall Bear eastward along the breach in the mountains to check out the lay of the land. Corporal Running Cougar, Red Moon and the mule remained with the captain.
In a short quarter of an hour Dooley and Swift Horse returned with their horses at a trot. Dooley had a wide smile on his face as he reported in. “Sir, we found a trail complete with wagon tracks. It goes up into the mountains on the north side. As a matter of fact, one could consider it a road. It’s wide enough.”
“Mmm,” Hawkins pondered thoughtfully. “It might lead the way to that trading post Lieutenant Graham told us about. We’ll take a ride up there.”
When Eagle Heart and Tall Bear returned with a negative report, Hawkins ordered the detachment to ride west. Everyone hoped they could spend most of the coming day in the saddle rather than walking.
Hawkins led them down the Gap to where it intersected with the road. He turned to Ludlow and Swift Horse. “You fellahs found it, so I’m giving you the honor of checking things out before we start the climb. But don’t take too long.”
The pair rode up the road side-by-side. They disappeared after ten minutes of climbing. Another twenty minutes passed before they came back into view.
Ludlow reported in with a grin on his face. “It’s obviously well-used and opens the way up into the mountains. It seems safe enough in my opinion.”
“That’s good enough for me, Mr. Dooley.” He turned to the scouts. “Forward at a walk. Keep your eyes open.”
They sat in their saddles, carbines at the ready, as the horses lumbered upward. Tony the mule was compliant and calm as always.
It took an hour to reach the end of the road, and the sight that met their eyes was a welcome one. A wide, rolling field with mountains on three sides spread out to their front. The open area appeared to be some three quarters of a mile deep and half that wide.
A large, sprawling log building was off to one side. A partial wall that had once surrounded the structure was almost completely pulled down. “That,” Hawkins announced, “is Campbell’s Trading Post.”
Other smaller shelters were scattered throughout the meadow’s expanse. The material used to construct them was obviously the walls of the ruined log fence. Most had smoke stacks and were obviously dwellings; crude but sturdy.
The people in the area were white, Indian and of mixed races. The males were clad mostly in buckskin clothing while the females showed a preference for calico dresses. Like most women who lived in primitive surroundings, they were a rather rough-looking bunch. Most of the population was involved in some activity ranging from chopping wood to making repairs to their homes. The sharpening of axes and cleaning of firearms were also in evidence. Others were just sitting around or drinking whiskey out of clay jugs.
Everyone ceased all activities to watch the approach of the scouts, not failing to note the uniforms. Hawkins and Dooley led the detachment up to the main building. The two officers dismounted at a hitching rack where a donkey was tethered.
When the duo walked through the door, the first thing they saw was a counter stretched across the entire room. Behind it were shelves of merchandise on display. The inventory was impressive. Foodstuffs, clothing, guns, ammunition, snowshoes, packs, traps and other outdoor gear were for sale.
A man standing behind the counter was waiting on a mixed-race customer with the appearance of a trapper. He had oversize saddlebags, indicating that the donkey outside was his. When he turned his head and saw the two officers, he stiffened noticeably, then quickly turned his attention back to the proprietor. They exchanged a few short words as the trapper crammed his numerous purchases into the leather containers. With that done, he hurried out of the building.
The proprietor gave the two officers a nod and smile as he approached them. He was a man of undeterminable age with a messy beard that was in bad need of a trimming. His face was creased with wrinkles and he was balding on top with long strands of hair flowing down to his shoulders. He wore greasy buckskin.
“It looks like Fort Terral has come a-visiting, hey?”
“Nope,” Hawkins said. “We’re from farther south. You must be Campbell.”
“Angus Campbell died ten or so years ago. I’m Philip Morgan and I took over since I was his clerk. But ever’body still calls this Campbell’s Trading Post. It was built way back in the ‘forties. What can I do for you fellers?” He looked at Ludlow. “How’re you doing, young man?”
“Fine, thanks.”
Sergeant Eagle Heart walked in and joined the officers. Morgan’s eyes opened wide. “How come that Injun is wearing a soljer suit?”
Dooley wearily explained, “He’s a legally enlisted soldier in the Army. It’s a new branch called the U.S. Scouts.”
“That’s inter’sting,” Morgan commented. He glanced out the door and saw the rest of the detachment. “In my day Injun scouts was hired on and dressed in their usual way.”
“I remember those days,” Hawkins said. “It was the same in the southwest when my regiment was fighting Apaches.” He took another gander at the merchandise. “We’d like to buy some vittles.”
“I can help you with that,” Morgan said. “But if you got greenbacks they ain’t gonna be worth the price they got printed on ’em.”
“We got eagle coins.”
Morgan showed an immediate wide smile. “It’s gonna be a pleasure doing business with you fellers.”
Hawkins’ eyes roved the shelves. “We didn’t bring much of a variety with us ’cept salt pork and hardtack.”
“Hardtack?” Morgan remarked, then burst out laughing. “What in hell are you eating that for? It’s like gnawing on bricks. How’d you like some fresh baked bread?”
“Have you got a bakery here?”
“Yep,” Morgan answered. “There’s a lady just across the way that has an oven behind her house. She brings over a few loafs for me to sell ever’day.”
“We’ll buy a half dozen,” Hawkins said. “I see you got canned fruit.”
“Yep. I go down to Fort Terral once a month and buy goods from the post trader, then haul it back up here.”
Ludlow gave the merchandise a close scrutiny. “I don’t see any smoked oysters.”
“I ain’t surprised,” Morgan said, “since there ain’t any up there.”
“Oh, bother!” Ludlow exclaimed
“Never mind, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said in as soothing a voice as he could manage. “There’ll be plenty for you at Fort Lone Wolf when we get back.” He switched his gaze to Morgan. “Did you know they’re building a railroad through the Haut-Prairie Gap?”
“By God!” Morgan exclaimed. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. The tracks’ll go right past our road. That’d be handy in the springtime when we want to get furs down to the river dock at Fort Terral.”
“That might be a long while,” Hawkins said. “Or maybe it’ll never happen. There’s been some surveyors trying to lay out the route, but somebody’s been taking pot shots at ’em. Several were killed. That’s why we were called up here from the southern plains. We’re supposed to find the shooters and arrest ’em. O’course if they’re not inclined to give up, we’ll offer the bastards a permanent alternative to prison.”
Morgan was angry. “Who the hell are they? There’s not a person in this part of the country that would have problems with a railroad. It’d make their lives a lot easier.”
The statement baffled Ludlow. “Well, Mr. Morgan, somebody resents the railroad. How many people live around here?”
Morgan
shrugged. “Hell! I don’t know. There’s scattered settlements, but they ain’t very big. And there’s always some old trapper who prefers to live alone. Did you see that feller I was waiting on when you came in here? He lives out there in the mountains, but I don’t know exactly where. I know for a fact he ain’t a trapper, but he has Canadian coins to spend.”
Hawkins could see that Morgan wouldn’t be much help to the mission. “Well, we’ll buy some foodstuff off you and see about that bread you mentioned.” He walked down the counter, giving the commodities a careful inspection. He came to a stop. “Say, Mr. Morgan, let me take a look at those boxes of cartridges on the lower shelf.”
“Sure,” Morgan said. “I don’t think they’ll do you any good though. I noticed your Injuns yonder have Springfield forty-five calibers. Them bullets on the shelf are rimfire cartridges for Remington rolling block rifles.” He grabbed a box and handed it to Hawkins.
Hawkins removed a round. “These are smokeless powders, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. That’s why they’re used with them Remington rifles. They can stand the pressures of that kind of cartridge. Fact is, that feller that was in here carries a rolling block, and he buys ammunition for it in big bunches.”
Ludlow looked at Hawkins. “If he purchases them in large lots, he must have lots of friends and money.” He turned to Morgan. “So you don’t know where he lives or camps, huh?”
Morgan shook his head. “All I know is that he comes in now and then with a donkey for the things he needs.”
“And pays in Canadian coins?” Ludlow asked.
“Yep. Then off he goes to parts unknown. He’s like a lot of breeds. They can be a crabby bunch.”
They were interrupted when a woman carrying a basket of a dozen fresh-baked loaves of bread came in. She was an old mixed-race female with a face almost as wrinkled as Morgan’s. Ludlow nodded to her in a respectful manner. “Madam, we’ll buy all that, if we may.”
Morgan said, “They got coins to spend, Mandy.”
Her face crinkled into a grin. “I can bake some more, if you want.”
“This will do us,” Ludlow assured her. “But we’ll probably buy from you if we come back through here again.”
She exhibited a happy grin. “You just ask for Mandy the bread lady. I’ll take care of you fellers.”
Hawkins paid Mandy a half-eagle for the bread, getting a quarter-eagle back in change. It was expensive, but that was to be expected in isolated areas of the mountains.
“What’s on our agenda now, sir?” Ludlow asked.
“We’ve got some tracking to do.”
Now Sergeant Eagle Heart finally spoke. “I think you talk about man with donkey, Cap’n.”
“I sure am,” Hawkins replied. Then he began picking out various canned food that would go good with fresh bread. Morgan even had some freshly churned butter available.
Chapter Twelve
Since Scout Tall Bear was the best tracker, Hawkins ordered him on point to lead the detachment up north into the mountains. He was to track the man who had been in the trading post. It was an easy spoor because of the clearly visible tracks of man and donkey in the soft high country soil.
Hawkins kept the rest of the detachment back, using Swift Horse as a backup tracker between the column and Tall Bear. Everyone was ordered to remain silent and make sure none of their equipment made noise from rattling around. After a half hour of travel, they were forced to dismount and walk through a myriad of trees.
It was slow going for a couple of hours, then they topped a rise and began going down a gentle slope that eased into a small open area. At that point Tall Bear came to a halt and Swift Horse caught up with him. When Hawkins noticed they had stopped, he almost lost his temper. Then he saw two strangely dressed men in uniforms barring their way. Both were on horseback.
Hawkins, with Ludlow at his heels, hurried forward. He approached the strangers who wore deerstalker caps with bills both on the front and back. Their trousers were dark blue with wide gold stripes going down the outside of the legs. The pair also sported jackets of brown cotton duck and one of them had three gold chevrons point-down under a crown insignia on his right sleeve. The other wore no indication of rank.
Hawkins scowled at them. “Who the hell are you?”
The one with the chevrons scowled back. “I’ll ask the questions around here.”
“Under what authority?”
“Under the authority of the North West Mounted Police.”
Hawkins was livid. “Listen, fellah, I’m a captain and you’re a goddam sergeant, so watch it!”
“A captain may outrank a sergeant, but not an American captain to a Canadian sergeant in Canada.”
Hawkins looked around. “This is Canada?”
“It most certainly is,” the sergeant replied. “I am Sergeant Duff and this is Constable Turpin.”
Turpin performed a faultless salute with the palm of his hand to the front.
Hawkins changed his attitude fast. “I am Captain Hawkins of the United States Army and this is my second-in-command Lieutenant Dooley.”
“Honored, sir,” Duff said. “Now tell me what you’re doing in Canada.” His eyes opened wide as the scouts now joined them. “Are those natives wearing uniforms?”
Ludlow showed a proud grin. “They are legally enlisted soldiers of the American Army. They are members of a new branch designated as the United States Scouts.”
“That seems like a good idea,” Duff commented. Then he became officially serious. “Now! Once more I demand to know what you and your scouts are doing in Canada.”
“Well, first off,” Hawkins said, “we didn’t know we were in Canada. We don’t have any maps that show where the international border exists.”
“I see,” Duff said. “I have proper charts in my saddlebags if it’s necessary for me to prove where you are.”
“Can you spare one?”
“I need them all,” Duff stated. “Now I also must know why you were following that man. He came up to us and said you were pursuing him.”
Hawkins gave a terse, quick but complete description of their orders regarding shooting at surveying parties of the Northern Plains Railway System. He mentioned the snipers had smokeless powder ammunition and as did the man they had followed from Campbell’s Trading Post.
“We were hoping there was a connection,” Hawkins explained as he summed up his report.
Duff was now more understanding. “Well, Captain, I can help you out there. The fellow you were tracking is from a small settlement to the west. The people living there are all Métis.”
Hawkins frowned. “What does Métis mean?”
“It is French for people of mixed blood,” the sergeant explained. “French-Canadian trappers have been in this area for decades and have taken native women as wives. Thus, some of their language has leaked into English.”
“I see,” Hawkins replied. “What do these particular Métis do?”
“They pan gold along a small river, then haul it up to the town of Deer Creek where an assay office buys their nuggets. I doubt very much if those prospectors have any interest in railroad surveyors in America.”
“All right,” Hawkins relented. “But why the hell does he go all the way over to Campbell’s Trading Post for supplies?”
“It’s closer than Deer Creek,” Duff explained. “At least that’s what they tell me. I’ve never been to their settlement. Never needed to. They’re all law abiding.”
“Okay,” Hawkins replied. “We’ll head back where we came from. As an officer of the United States Army I wish to make an official apology for our accidental intrusion into Canada.”
“Accepted, Captain. And I shall include that expression of regret in my report.” He glanced at the Indians. “I will also inform them of the natives allowed to join the American Army.”
Ludlow studied the uniforms of the two Canadians. “Just what is the North West Mounted Police?”
“We’re actually a constabulary
that is both military and law enforcement,” Duff explained. “Our force was created to maintain order in the North West Territories. Later our authority was widened. That’s it in a nutshell.”
Polite farewells and handshakes were exchanged, then Hawkins ordered the detachment to turn around, and he led them to the edge of the woods. Ludlow noticed Hawkins was frustrated. When it came to missions, he was fanatically dedicated to accomplishing them. The captain would let nothing — not army regulations, protocols or circumstances — interfere with his goals. When carrying out his duties, he forgot everything, even Kristina Halverson the woman he loved and wanted to marry.
It was still daylight when Captain Mack Hawkins called a halt and ordered the detachment to set up camp. Sergeant Eagle Heart quickly organized the guard and had the animals picketed where grass was available for them. At that point, everyone settled down to relax and wait to find out what the commanding officer’s next step was going to be in this bizarre situation.
The sun was well into its downward orbit over the western side of the mountains as Hawkins and Ludlow Dooley sat around their campfire sipping coffee. The captain was lost in thought, obviously doing some serious contemplating. The scouts were also quiet, not so much from fatigue as from uncertainty. The Indians sensed something out of the ordinary was in the offing. They ate the fresh bread and canned meat that had been purchased at the trading post, and washed it down with coffee. None had expressed their collective puzzlement, other than casting glances over at the two officers now and then. All recalled that when the captain was in one of those moods, things eventually turned lively.
Finally Hawkins raised his eyes to Ludlow’s face. “Mr. Dooley, I don’t believe everything that Canadian policeman said was true about that fellah we were following.”
“You mean that he’s not a prospector?”
“He may be that, but I recall how he acted when he saw us at the trading post. It wasn’t curiosity he showed.”
Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1) Page 6
